Emrys and the Future King
by Ohka Breynekai
Summary: It has been one thousand, seven hundred, fifty-five years since King Arthur's death at the Battle of Camlann. Since then, the world has changed drastically. Science and technology have replaced magic, and there is no more room for kings, castles, and knights. That day, Arthur Pendragon washes up on the shores of Avalon, alone but for a single friend who remembers Camelot.
1. Chapter 1

The sound of waves lapping gently over rocks, swelling and receding. The warmth of the sun. These were the first sensations Arthur perceived. He was comfortable, as though floating, and wanted nothing more than to remain in this place halfway between reality and unconsciousness. But the more he struggled to return to sleep, the faster the world pieced itself together in his senses. He could feel his chainmail cold, damp, and heavy about him; could smell the moss and sand; the sunlight pried its fingers against his eyelids.

This was not how he should be waking up. Where was his bed? His chambers? Merlin pulling open the curtains with that years-old greeting of, "Gooooooood morning, sire!" ?

With that realization, his eyes opened, and Arthur stared in confusion at the blue sky overhead. Hazy white clouds drifted over it in a slow wind, and judging by the sun's location, it was already afternoon. A small bird, indistinct but as a black silhouette, lazily traversed the sky.

Arthur sat up, and he came face-to-face with a lake. Wind brushed wrinkles over the water's dark surface, and in the center was a low, green island, speckled by grey ruins – little more than blocks and stones. The chill waves lapped at Arthur's feet, filling and emptying his boots.

Camelot's regent wanted to say that he knew this place, but the most he could say was that it _resembled_ his kingdom's Avalon. The Lake of Avalon was surrounded by a great forest, while this place was not; the island at its center, too, was but a benevolent shadow of the Isle of the Blessed.

Similarities aside, his armor was water-heavy from shoulder to foot, and his feet were still submerged, meaning Arthur must have _washed up_ out of this lake. Just where was he, and how had he gotten here?

Arthur dragged himself with his arms further onto the shore before turning onto his knees and pushing shakily to his feet. It took a full minute before he trusted his legs to support him.

This was bad, and it was getting worse by the second. Here he was, in an unfamiliar place, with no memories of how he had gotten here, and lacking the strength to defend himself. Reflexively, his right hand sought the pummel of Excalibur at his hip, only to grasp at air. Panic filled his chest, squeezing his heart. He looked down, disbelieving his grip, but his eyes told him the same story – his sword was gone.

He immediately cast his eyes about the shore, not wanting to think that it might be somewhere at the bottom of this lake, gone forever. Then… there! Gleaming in the sunlight, it lay only a few meters from where Arthur had washed up. He stumbled toward it, thanking every god he knew for the miracle, and plucked it from the rocks. Water droplets ran down the blade, dripping onto his hand. Arthur held it aloft, looking at his face in the reflection on the metal, and he had the strange impression of a long time having passed since he had seen his own image. His face was both familiar and unfamiliar, but he knew the blonde hair and blue eyes from years of owning them and quieted the uneasy feeling. Sighing, he lowered the blade, already feeling better with it in his grasp.

Arthur used the tip of Excalibur as a walking staff as he shuffled away from the lake into the woods nearby. When he judged himself secluded, he slumped against a tree trunk to rest. Quickly, he removed his boots, draining the water out of them. He needed to get out of these wet clothes soon, before sickness set in. With the last of his energy, Arthur removed his gloves, unbuckled his gauntlets, unstrapped his breastplate, and pulled his chainmail over his head, all the while wishing Merlin was about to do it for him. Where was Merlin, anyway? It was not usual for them to be separated like this.

As he stripped to his undergarments, Arthur could not suppress the worry fluttering in his heart for his manservant. What did it mean that they were separated? Just what had happened? He was obviously forgetting something important, but it felt like something _more_ than that. There was something he _desperately_ needed to remember.

Regrettably, he was without his flint and tender, but he managed to build a fire all the same. It was soon burning brightly, and he arranged his armor about it. He grabbed for his chainmail but paused when his fingers slipped through a hole in the links. Curious, he held the chainmail up and observed that there was a hole just below where his heart would sit. Arthur felt suddenly short of breath. He had been _stabbed_.

At once, the memories came flooding back to him – of Camlann, of Mordred, of Morgana, of _Merlin_. Arthur had not just been stabbed, he had been _dying_, and Merlin – who was a _sorcerer_ – had dragged him across the kingdom for two days trying to save his life. Had they made it in time?

Moisture pricked at his eyes. He could still see Merlin's face above him, wet with tears and filled with despair; he could even feel ghosts of the drops that had fallen on his face from those weeping blue eyes.

They must have made it in time – after all, he was here, _alive_. So, where was Merlin?

He could not believe his friend would make such a journey to save him only to abandon him once the spell was achieved. Something must have happened, then.

Arthur wanted nothing more than to rush off into the woods, shouting his manservant's name, but he was not sure he had even the strength to stand. He supposed nearly dying had a way of taking it out of a person. As much as he desired to search for Merlin, he would have to rest a while longer, let his clothes dry, ensure that Merlin's journey had not been for _nothing_. He would not survive such an ordeal only to beckon death again with his own stupidity.

As his clothes dried, he stared into the flames, trying to quiet his thoughts. It occurred to him that a fire would quickly attract the attention of any Saxons prowling the area; then again, it might also lead Merlin to him. His eyes began to drift shut, and he did not realize as he fell to sleep again.

* * *

Arthur awoke with the dawn. The fire was nothing more than cool ash, and his skin, though dry, felt cold and stiff. His stomach immediately grumbled to alert him that he had not eaten in two days, and had not eaten _well_ in at least five. If he did not find Merlin soon, he would have to start looking for food instead. He could hear the taunts already – how Merlin would accuse him of caring more about his stomach that the man who had saved his life!

He dressed quickly, relieved that his muscles were cooperating with him today. The armor stunk of algae and sweat, but it would have to do, until he could find Merlin and have him clean it all.

The king, pulling on his last glove, paused at that thought. After finding out that Merlin was a sorcerer – a powerful one, who had saved not only his life but the entire kingdom – could Arthur really expect him to continue a life of servitude? To hell with his words about being born to serve Arthur; obviously he was just being the same overly humble idiot as always, accustomed to receiving no rewards. Of course Arthur could not ask him to continue being his servant. He would have to be made Court Sorcerer.

Another thought that made him pause. If Merlin's magic was acknowledged in Camelot, wouldn't that mean Arthur had to repeal the ban against magic?

It did.

The king laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. Extraordinary relief washed his limbs, as though a great burden had been lifted from him, one he had been carrying his entire life. He knew what it was – the burden of his father's Purge, the curse that had begun this cycle of hatred within the kingdom. It would finally end, and Arthur would end it.

He needed to find Merlin, now, and tell him the news!

"Come on, you idiot," he growled at the trees. "Where are you?"

In a few minutes, Arthur stumbled out of the woods and into an open field. Low stone walls stretched across it, clearly dividing it into plots, through which carved a path peculiarly black in color. A herd of sheep wandered over the grass. Only patches of trees were visible in the distance, where Arthur expected to see lush forest.

Then, there were towering wooden posts protruding from the ground, with metal hooks at the top, across which were draped long, tarred ropes. These constructions stretched as far as the eye could see, from one end of the field to the other.

Arthur could not remember seeing any such place in Camelot or in any part of Albion he had visited in his life. He wondered just where he could be and if he even remained in the five kingdoms. Despite the forest at his back, he felt exposed.

There was nothing for it. He would have to try the road and see if it led him to any villages where he could collect information. Perhaps he could even find Merlin there, gathering supplies or finding shelter.

The road, it seemed, was made of a continuous, tough, gray rock, one that Arthur could not identify. It was certainly not a building technique he had ever seen before, but it was one of which he could immediately see the benefits – no slurries of mud and dangerous holes created by rainstorms, for example. Depending on where this rock came from and how expensive it would be to obtain, Arthur would have to consider employing it in Camelot.

He walked along the road for several minutes, more unnerved by the second. Then, he heard a roaring in the distance, approaching at a great speed. Looking behind him, Arthur spotted a great, colorful beast plowing up the path, and he quickly jumped into the grass to hide from it. As the 'creature' came closer, though, Arthur realized it was not actually a living thing. It had four wheels like a wagon, and it was covered in glass windows. In fact, Arthur could spot the figure of a person sitting inside of it. The only question was, how was it moving? There were no horses pulling it, so it must have been magic.

It was too late to find a place to hide in this flat and featureless field; Arthur could only watch with dread as the enchanted wagon slowed to a halt beside him, growling low and deep. One of the windows disappeared, and a man's face appeared from behind it.

"Jus' come from a renaissance festival, didja?" he said. "Nice suit."

Ignoring the fact that, while this stranger spoke Arthur's language, Arthur did not understand most of what he said, the king ventured to say, "I'm afraid that I'm… a bit lost. Can you direct me to the nearest village?"

"I can do you better than that, mate. Hop in."

Warily, Arthur approached the wagon, while the driver leaned to the other side and pushed a door open. "Door's a bit wonky, but she should close jus' fine. Come on, then!"

Arthur sat down carefully inside the body of the enchanted wagon, mindful of his sword, and he pulled the door closed after him. As soon as he did so, the wagon rumbled into motion again; from somewhere within its interior, the king realized there was music playing, a stringed folk song with raucous singers.

"Really is a fine suit," the driver said, eyes on the road. "Especially like the sword. Where'd joo buy it?"

Arthur fingered his hilt protectively. "It was my heritage."

"Right on. I'll have you know, I collect weapons. Kind of my hobby, guess you could call it. Don't suppose I could buy yours off a ya?"

"I doubt you could name a price that would make me part with this sword," Arthur replied carefully.

"I hear you, mate. No harm askin', though, is there? Tell me, waz your name, anyway?"

"Arthur."

"Nice ta meet ya, Arthur," the driver said, extending his right hand under his left arm, which was holding a wheel to apparently direct the vehicle. "I'm Ralph, but my friends call me Ralphie."

Arthur accepted the handshake. "It is good to meet you, Ralph. Thank you for carrying me."

"Don' mention it! I rather like picking up the occasional hitchhiker. I know, I know, they say it's not a good idea anymore, pick up all sorts of unsavory folk, but I've had nothing but good times meeting new people on the road. Make a lot of friends that way."

"Do you travel often?" said Arthur. He was still unused to the mode of transportation, but he was beginning to feel comfortable in this man's company; he did not seem to be a threat but instead was a simple-minded and good-hearted fellow. Arthur took a moment to look closer at the man's appearance. He seemed no older than Arthur; scrawny, like Merlin, with a shock of orange hair and a beard to match. He was clean, and he wore tight blue pants and a loose red jacket unlike any Arthur had seen before.

"For me job, you see. I'm in the business of 'postal delivery'." He jabbed his thumb into the air, pointing into the back of the wagon. Arthur could see several burlap sacks, full to bursting with their contents.

"Right," Arthur said slowly, having no idea what a 'postal' was. Whatever it was, it was in those bags, and this man delivered it in various areas. Perhaps it was another magical contraption or ingredient. Sighing, he decided that he was farther from home than he had originally thought. _Merlin_. _How dare you dump me in this place and abandon me?_

"Do many people here have… erm, vehicles like yours?"

"Oh, this old girl?" Ralphie said, patting the wheel like Arthur might pat the rump of his horse. "I'd say most people have something a little newer, but she does me just fine. Aaaand, there she is! That's Leitchester, there, see?"

Arthur followed Ralphie's pointed finger through the window. Nestled in the valley ahead was a large village, a cluster of white, blue, grey, and red stone houses, between all of which ran the hard grey road. Even from this distance, Arthur could spot more of the strange, magicked wagons – it looked like nearly every person owned one.

Arthur's stomach chose that moment to growl, long and loud.

Ralphie laughed. "I know what you need, mate. There's a bloody good café here in Leitchester – you ever been?" Arthur shook his head. "Then I'll drop you off there, won't I?"

* * *

Merlin had been alive for one thousand seven hundred eighty three years. Days went by so quickly now that he could remember events from centuries ago better than he could remember the last week. The only reason he knew his age was that he made a point of tracking it; rather, he made a point of tracking the number of years since his king had died. It was a number that filled him with hopelessness as it grew ever larger, but it also connected him very pointedly to his past. This number was one of the few tokens he still had from those days, and whenever he began to doubt that Camelot had been, he could look at his calendars and know that Camelot existed in time, if it no longer did in space.

He had done many things in his long lifetime. At first he merely remained in Camelot, aging himself as his friends aged, advising the kingdom on how to return sorcery to the land, always keeping his immortality a secret. Then, everyone he knew died, and Camelot's new king had not been so fond of sorcery. Merlin watched as that man's kingdom fell to the Anglo-Saxons, leaving the citadel as nothing but ruins.

For years afterward, Merlin lived in a little house near Avalon, waiting and watching for the prophesied return of his king. Decades passed, and history moved about him, and no matter the horrors wreaked in Albion, Arthur did not return.

Merlin was at first afraid to move too far away from Avalon, never knowing when Arthur might appear. But, as the centuries passed, he grew in his despair and restlessness, and every now and then he would leave the country for a few months. The world was a big place then, and the new discoveries he made every day abroad made life back then bearable, if not happy.

Then, the continent-wide purging of witches and warlocks came about, and Merlin sunk again into seclusion. He did not fear for his life, but he was saddened by the meaningless deaths surrounding him and could not bear witness to them. The earth cried out in pain; it cried in his very blood.

Since those times, when the world entered the modern age of science, as it was called – there was hardly any magic left. In the recesses of ancient forests, there still dwelled fantastic creatures, and in small covens, witches and warlocks continued to practice their diluted forms of magic. The truth was, however, that the age of magic had ended. Despite everything he and Arthur had worked for, it had been driven to extinction; and even seventeen hundred years later, nations had not found peace.

When travel lost its luster, Merlin moved permanently into his house near the lake. He changed his appearance and took on odd jobs, content to lead a quiet life in a small village, where people had few worries other than leaving that town and putting food on the table.

His current guise was of a young man called George. He had reached the end of his 'life', so he faked an old man's death and arrived again in the village shortly afterward, pretending to be his own nephew, there to take care of the house. George was roughly eighteen, fresh out of school, with the ambition to be a painter, although somewhat lacking in the skills. His magic made it easy enough to forge the papers.

Merlin did not know why he was still alive. He once thought he was made immortal to wait for the return of the Once and Future King, but he had waited for nearly two thousand years, and Arthur was not here. If only Arthur came back, he thought, perhaps then he would finally be allowed to die.

Then again, since he was the embodiment of magic, maybe he merely needed to wait for magic to completely leave the world, and then he could leave it, too. Only, the earth itself overflowed with untapped, natural magic, the same that continued to flow strong within Merlin, a magic that would never die, even when no one practiced it. In that terrible, terrible case, Merlin would never be allowed to die.

About two hundred years ago, he resigned himself to that fact and several others, including the idea that Arthur may never return and he had lived for centuries by this lake for nothing. He did not even know that was where Arthur would reappear, or if Arthur would return in the same form he wore in life. But, it was the only lead Merlin had, and it was the last place they had seen each other.

By resigning himself to these facts, he was able to purge some of the sorrow and hopelessness from his bones. He made a point of focusing on the people he met over the years and not on himself, though at the same time not becoming too close to them, not wanting to renew the sense of loss he had felt so strongly in the past.

He got up and left the house everyday because, if he stopped, he knew he would never leave it again.

* * *

George had applied for a job at the café, brewing and serving coffee beverages and waiting tables. Leitchester was a small town, so besides the occasional passerby, the café hosted the same patrons every day. Merlin easily memorized their orders and quickly became one of the most efficient and polite employees the manager had ever hired. He bragged that he should have known, given George's uncle.

Today was busier than usual. The good weather must have lured the townsfolk from their houses. Being summer break, the young people of Leitchester had little else to do besides eat pastries and take advantage of the café's free WiFi. They huddled quietly in the back of the shop, headphones dangling from their ears in a variety of colors, fingers swiftly sliding over their laptops, electric blue screens reflected in their eyes. Farther toward the front, the retired folk had set up, the ladies with their knitting and several of Merlin's old chess buddies. "George" periodically brought them coffee, so unobtrusively that the patrons went unconsciously through cup after cup, earning his manager many a pretty coin. Merlin's coworker, a blonde girl called Tilly, tried to do the same with the biscuits, with varied levels of success.

The tables quickly filled up, and the other customers were forced to take their coffee and free time elsewhere, resulting in a constant stream of bodies in and out of the door. Every time it opened, a small bell would jangle against the wood; and today, it did so as much as to have a private musical show.

Around noon, Merlin was busy pouring a fresh pot of coffee into several cups on a tray of saucer plates for the knitting gaggle, when he heard the jingle of the bell and a set of strangely metallic-sounding footsteps enter the café. He shrugged, assuming it was another teenager with chains looped about their pants, as though that were supposed to make them look threatening. He treated his customers impartially, no matter how much he wanted to buy them new wardrobes, and he planted a smile on his face before turning over his shoulder to call out, "Just a min…ute…"

The pot slipped through his fingers, bounced off the edge of the counter, and shattered against the floor, splattering the area with scalding coffee and broken glass. He hardly registered the burns on his legs, which his magic began to heal immediately, nor did he hear the shout from the manager in the kitchen.

Because, standing twenty feet from him, in full armor, was Arthur Pendragon.

"Arthur," he whispered.

The young king had heard the crash and was squinting at the coffee-splattered person behind the counter. "_Mer_lin?" he accused, stomping across the room, chain- and plate-mail chinking and clanking with every movement. "Where have you _been_? I have been looking everywhere for you!"

Tilly was tugging at his sleeve. "George, you alright? You know this guy?" Merlin could not breathe, let alone respond to her.

Arthur stopped at the counter, placed his fists on his hips, and grinned at the scrawnier man. "Come on then, let's hear it." Merlin did nothing but gape, tears filling his distressed eyes. Arthur's grin faded. "Merlin?"

At that moment, the manager squeezed between them, stepping carefully around the glass. He eyed Arthur up and down and said, "I'm so sorry, sir, we'll be just one moment. George, are you alright?"

The manager had to shake Merlin's shoulder roughly before he would respond. He blinked and said, "Oh…" His eyes took in the glass and spilled coffee at his feet. "Yeah." Then they returned to Arthur; Merlin was almost surprised when the king did not vanish into a puff of smoke during the few seconds Merlin's eyes left him. Could this be real? Was he dreaming?

The manager noticed Merlin's gaze and looked between the two. "George, do you need to go? I can have Tilly take over for the afternoon."

Merlin shook his head slowly, untying his apron from his neck and pressing it into the manager's arms. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stone, but I think I quit." Not taking his eyes off of Arthur, Merlin came out from behind the counter, ignoring the manager's cries of "George!" He stood in front of Arthur, staring intently into the ever more bewildered face.

"Is it really you?"

* * *

**A/N: After carefully considering the advice of my coworker in Japan ("Enjoy your summer! Don't worry about teaching until you get here!"), I've decided to enjoy my summer by writing copious amounts of Merlin fanfiction. As the young people say (this author is 22 but has the disposition an old person) - YOLO! So, I'll post all five of my ongoing stories and write for all of them. (I'll do a cycle: NMR - Se edhwierft - EatFK - Castle of Arden - Zombies in Camelot - rinse and repeat). Then, when I get buried under the 10 feet of Hokkaido snow this winter, I'll pick them up again. I can't believe I'm moving somewhere that gets 25 ft of snow per year... How exciting! **

**Some notes about this story: Unlike most of my stories, this is neither a reveal fic or written solely from Arthur's PoV. It's refreshing! I know this premise has been tackled a hundred times already, but the existing stories have never satisfied me. I hope this story can be a new and creative take on an old idea. **

**The town I've placed Merlin near, Leitchester, is entirely fictional. I named it knowing the Old English word "ceaster" means "town". That's the whole story. As for British-English, please forgive me if I entirely butcher the dialect. I'm modeling their speech after what I know from watching the BBC, Doc Martin, and research on Wikipedia.**

**This story is a big one. If the "Once" of Arthur's story was the entirety of the Merlin series, by my reasoning the "Future" should be just as prolific. We'll have mini-arcs, new and important OCs, and the big goal that Arthur and Merlin will be driven toward. Expect many, many chapters. **

**Next time: Arthur and Merlin have their first conversation in seventeen hundred years. **


	2. Chapter 2

Ralphie left Arthur in front of a glass-fronted building at the center of the village's narrow matrix of streets. Arthur peered about himself at the strange signs, the strange style of dress of these people, and the abundance of horseless-wagons. For a village, it smelled surprisingly fresh – other than the smell of fried meat and some other warm, rich odor, Arthur could taste nothing on the air. No horse droppings, no chamber pot dumps, and no bodily odors, other than his own stale one.

The smell of food drifted out of the 'Starlight Café'. Arthur had no money on him, but perhaps he could pay for his meal in a different way; or, if that did not work, he could reveal his identity.

When he pulled open the door, a bell jingled overhead. Almost immediately after that came the crash of glass shattering against the floor. Arthur turned to the source of the commotion to find a young, black-haired man gaping at him. _No_, he thought squinting, _that's Merlin!_

"_Mer_lin! Where have you _been_? I've been looking all over the place for you!" He approached his manservant, ignoring the stares he was receiving from the rest of the establishment. He grinned, simply happy to see his friend again, after this day of nothing but confusion. "Come on then," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "Let's hear it."

Merlin's face was quickly deteriorating from an expression of shock into one of tragic disbelief. And were those _tears_? Was Merlin about to cry? Did he not know Arthur had survived? And just what was Merlin doing _here_?

"Merlin?"

There was a pretty blonde girl pulling at Merlin's shirt, asking if "George" was alright. Then, a short pudgy man squeezed his way into Arthur's line of sight, telling Arthur to wait and again asking about "George". Arthur leaned around the man, wondering if he had made a mistake. But, no, there was no way those ears could belong to anyone else.

As though in a daze, Merlin removed the cloth that had been hanging down his front, gave it to the pudgy man, who immediately began to protest, and said that he was quitting. He came out from behind the bar and approached Arthur until he stood only inches away, staring intently into Arthur's face. The king had to suppress the urge to back away.

"Is it really you?" Merlin whispered.

"Wha… of course it's me, you dolt." So that he could feel in control of the situation, Arthur wrapped his arm about Merlin's shoulders and led him out the door. "Come on, you have a lot of explaining to do." Merlin agreed to be led without protest, without a word.

Arthur took them to the side of the building and glanced both ways to check for possible eavesdroppers. A horseless-wagon passed them on the road, but other than that, they seemed sufficiently alone. He took Merlin's shoulders, grinned again, and said, "It worked, Merlin. Whatever crazy scheme you had in mind at the Isle of the Blessed worked."

Merlin's head lowered until Arthur could no longer see his eyes. He shook his head. "No, it didn't."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur flung his arms out wide and took several steps back, as though putting his body on display. "I'm alive!"

The sorcerer's knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, burying his face in his arms as sobs wracked his body. Arthur was immediately kneeling at his side. "Merlin! What the hell is the matter with you?"

The king was scared; he had never seen Merlin break down before. Hell, he had only seen the man tear-up a handful of times.

Merlin mumbled something into his knees, and Arthur had to strain to hear. "So long… I thought…"

"Merlin, I can't understand a word you're saying." He grabbed his manservant's arm and lifted him to his feet.

"I waited for you," Merlin sobbed at the ground, words sharp. "I thought you weren't ever coming back."

"What are you…?" The feeling of wrongness Arthur had experienced all day reared again. Earlier, he had tried to ignore the oddities about him in favor of seeking his goal, but now he looked closely at his manservant.

Merlin was still the same Merlin – black hair, blue eyes, enormous ears, and scrawny as a starved rabbit. However, his hair was several inches longer and was messier than he usually kept it, and stubble poked out from his normally clean-shaven face. Then, if Arthur was not mistaken, Merlin looked about ten years _younger_ than when he had last seen him, like the Merlin that he had picked a fight with during their first meeting in Camelot, no more than a boy. He was not wearing his usual clothes, either, the same clothes he had worn for the entirety of his stay in Camelot – for the entirety of his life, as far as Arthur knew. Instead, he was wearing a tight, soft black shirt with sleeves that cut off half-way down his arms. He wore the same kind of blue trousers that Ralphie had worn, over a thick black shoe.

In fact, if Arthur did not know Merlin as well as he did, he might not have recognized the other man.

Merlin was struggling to catch his breath. He scrubbed at the tears. "No, no – I won't cry. Not now."

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's shoulders, making the manservant wince and look up at him. His eyes were red and puffy, his face smeared with moisture. "Damn it, Merlin. Are you going to tell me what's going on or not? Where are we? What happened?"

The black-haired man took a deep breath. He raised his eyes to Arthur's, and Arthur could not help but flinch at the sight of them. They were not Merlin's eyes. There was something dark about them. "Arthur, you're the Once and Future King. Do you know what that means?" When Arthur did not answer, he continued. "It means you were destined to live two lives. You've already been through the Once. Now it is time for the Future."

"What are you saying, Merlin?" He lifted up his mail to show the hole. "The wound is gone. That means you saved me."

"No, Arthur, I did not."

The king released his manservant's shoulders, stumbling backward into the wall of the adjacent building. Merlin's unfamiliar eyes followed his movements. Arthur stared at his hands, as though he doubted they were real or that they were his.

"You're trying to tell me I _died_. Is that what you're saying?"

Slowly, Merlin nodded.

Arthur rushed forward, punching the wall next to Merlin's head, frustrated when Merlin did not make a move to avoid it. "Is this is some idea of a joke…" he hissed, although he knew beyond a doubt that it was not. Merlin's unnerving reaction to him was proof enough.

"Sire, I could not joke about this if I wanted to."

Arthur closed his eyes, supporting himself on his fist against the wall. His head was devoid of thought, his ears filled with a high whining. After a moment, he asked, "How long?"

Merlin took a deep breath, drawing Arthur's attention. He watched Merlin close his eyes before saying, "One thousand seven hundred fifty-five years, sire."

He swore his heart stopped beating. The earth began to tilt beneath his feet, and he barely registered Merlin catching him, lowering him to sit against the wall. Numb, he stared blankly at the brick wall ahead, the number reverberating in his ears.

"It feels like it's only been a day," he finally whispered. "Camlann… I was just _there_." He could practically smell the blood and ash, lingering heavy in his nostrils. "Why is this happening, Merlin?"

The sorcerer shrugged and sat down heavily beside his liege. "Destiny, I suppose."

"What kind of _destiny_…?" Arthur clutched his hair tightly in his fingers, struggling to breathe. "And you, Merlin? When did you come back?" Merlin said nothing. "How long have you been here?"

Merlin closed his eyes and looked away. "I never died, Arthur."

The king's stomach clenched, and he scrambled onto his knees, coughing up the contents of his already empty stomach. His body trembled in protest, and his throat burned. Merlin rubbed his back, and when Arthur had finished, said, "Let's get you home, sire. You need some rest." He helped Arthur to his feet, directing the blonde to the front of the building.

There, they met the pudgy man from before. 'Mr. Stone', Arthur's mind echoed through the fog. The man was still clutching the fabric Merlin had given him. "George! You're not really quitting, are you, boy? Surely we can work this out."

Merlin sighed, eyes darting to Arthur, before he addressed the man. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?"

Mr. Stone was much relieved. "Thank God!" He handed the fabric back to Merlin, patting his hands sympathetically. "You take care of your business, and we'll sort this."

Once the man had waddled back inside the building, Merlin stuffed the cloth into a pocket on the back of his pants and approached a small, blue… _thing_. He dragged it by its horns into the road and sat down on its back. Seeing Arthur's incomprehension, he said, "This is called a scooter. It's a little machine that burns gasoline to make the wheels go. You'll have to sit behind me."

"Like the horseless wagons," Arthur deduced. "Then it's not magic at all, but a machine." Merlin suppressed a snort, turning it into a cough. It was not lost on the king. "What, Merlin?"

"No, it's just… I can see I'm going to have my hands full." He patted the seat behind him, motioning for Arthur to sit down. "You'll have to hold onto me and put your feet up on the little pegs. Try not to shift your weight around too much or we'll fall over." Arthur did so, feeling entirely unstable and very much unhappy that he had to hold onto his manservant like a _girl_. Although, these feelings of slight annoyance, familiar sensations, were much welcome compared to the thoughts of a minute before. It made Arthur hold his tongue.

Merlin turned a key in a lock, and the 'scooter' began to rumble and growl. He lifted his feet off of the ground, turned his hands on the machine's horns, and the scooter rolled forward up the road.

"They're called cars, by the way!" Merlin called over his shoulder, pointing at the wagons. "Or automobiles!"

"Cars? What about horses?"

They were already exiting the village, heading back in the direction of the lake where Arthur had woken up.

"Some people still have horses, but most people use cars and motorbikes these days! They're faster and you don't have to clean up after them!"

Arthur wondered what a 'motorbike' was, but he was too focused on staying on the scooter to ask any more questions. Instead, he stared at Merlin's skinny back and tried not to think about anything besides keeping his balance. Likewise, Merlin did not try to talk to him anymore.

Soon, they turned onto a smaller dirt road that wound through the trees. Arthur could see the lake about a mile's distance away, shimmering through the forest. "Is that the Isle of the Blessed?"

"It is, sire!"

Arthur's heart sunk even deeper, because if that was the Lake of Avalon, then the land they had just traversed, which he could not recognize at all, all lay within the boundaries of Camelot. He did not want to know how much had changed, all seemingly overnight, how different _everything_ was in this future. He did not want to think about it.

Merlin directed the scooter to the front of a little house nestled in the woods. Red clay bricks fashioned the walls, and the roof was crafted from hundreds of slabs of what looked like slate. It was two stories tall, sporting several small windows and completely overgrown with ivy. A small white door stood in the center of the front wall, preceded by a narrow cobbled path. The brush was cleared away from the front of the house, making room for a number of sweet-smelling herbs and wildflowers, which on this warm afternoon were attracting bees and butterflies.

Arthur scrambled off of the scooter, happy to have his feet on the ground again. Merlin pulled the scooter into a small wooden shed just big enough to house it and waved Arthur to the front door.

"You live here, Merlin?" Merlin nodded, smiling slightly. Arthur shuffled his feet, overwhelmingly conscious of his friend's suddenly incomprehensible age. Quietly, he asked, "Have you been here all this time? Next to the Lake?"

The manservant shrugged. "More or less. I used to travel, and I fix up the house every few decades to fit the times. My greatest renovation yet is indoor plumbing, which I think you'll quite enjoy." He held one hand up to the doorknob. His eyes flashed gold, and the locked crunched open.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He knew Merlin was a sorcerer, and in fact he had seen several displays of the man's magic on their journey, before his memory grew too hazy. Yet Arthur had grown up hating and fearing magic, and seeing his friend's time-riddled eyes fill with its power made Arthur feel like another chunk of his old life had been torn away from him.

Not only was Merlin a sorcerer, but Gaius had said that he may be the 'greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth'. Was that how he had done it?

Merlin watched Arthur carefully. The king flinched, realizing that he was being consumed by his thoughts. "Let's go inside then," he said with as much authority as he could muster. Merlin nodded and swung the door inwards.

The sharp, warm scent of herbs mingled with the sweetness of rotting paper and dust filled Arthur's nose, reminding him very much of Gaius's chambers. The entryway was narrow and dim – jackets and scarves hung on pegs along the wall, and several pairs of shoes were lined up underneath. Merlin kicked his black shoes off, revealing white stockings, before leading them further inside.

Books. It was as though Merlin had taken the whole of Camelot's library and tried to fit it inside a single house. Not an inch of wall-space was empty of a shelf, and where those failed, the books were stacked up from the floor and on the house's few tables. In the chamber to his left were a long table covered by herbs and vials and a squishy leather chair tucked in about the books. A simple candelabrum hung from the ceiling, filled by small glass bulbs. There was also a curious metal stand behind the chair, sheltered by a hide and sporting another glass bulb. To the right, amongst the books, was a square wooden table with two chairs and some other shiny surfaces built into the wall. A small white door led out through that room to the side of the house. Golden light shone green through the ivy into the room, submerging it in afternoon warmth.

At the end of the hallway were stairs and another door. Arthur could only imagine he would find more books in the other corners of the house.

"It's really a mess," Merlin said, scratching the back of his head and grinning sheepishly.

"At least I know it really is yours. Tell me, would this have been the end result if I had given you your own chambers?"

"What, is that something you planned on doing, sire?"

"I couldn't really have my Court Sorcerer living in a broom closet, could I?"

The warlock's shoulders drooped, the brief levity leaving him. "Ah…"

"I was planning on lifting the ban on magic. I wanted to find you and tell you that." Merlin's head dropped even further. "But I suppose that is very little in exchange for what you've done for me," Arthur continued, trying to take his foot out of his mouth.

"No, my lord," said Merlin. He smiled, but his eyes were full of sorrow. "That means a lot to me." He clasped his hands together, turning on his heel, pointedly putting his back to Arthur. "Now, let's get you cleaned up. I'll show you the loo, and then I'll start making dinner. I don't have much, but I can at least make you some bangers and eggs."

"You must know that I don't understand half of what you just said."

"Like I said, a handful!"

The 'loo', as Merlin called it, was nestled behind the door near the stairs. It was a room devoted to a metal wash basin, a shiny white stool, and another standing basin. Long bits of metal wound about the walls like snakes. Merlin flicked a yellow peg on the wall, and suddenly the room filled with light, emanating from a glass bulb that dangled on a string from the ceiling.

Arthur frowned; he did not notice Merlin's eyes change color. Was Merlin really so good at casting magic just under Arthur's nose? Or was Arthur missing something?

Merlin waved him over to the wash basin – long and metal, suspended an inch off the floor by four clawed feet. There was a round, dark hole at one end, into which Merlin dropped a small, chained object. "Your majesty, I present to you the modern bathtub." He pointed at two little silver knobs. "This one is hot, and this one is cold. You can turn them both on as much or as little as is comfortable. Here's a bar of soap and some shampoo – for your hair, you see."

"There're two kinds of soap? And I don't understand – what are hot and cold?"

"Observe." Merlin grabbed both of the knobs and turned them inward. The room groaned, and at once, water began rushing into the basin from one of the metal tubes.

Arthur's eyes widened. "Is there a well?"

"Yes, and you can pump from it directly to your bathtub. Told you you'd like that." He turned the knob he'd labeled 'cold' the other direction, and soon steam was rising from the quickly filling basin.

"Where's the fire? What heats it?"

"A heater in the basement. It's… another machine, I guess."

"Does everyone have these machines?"

"For the most part, yes. People call you backwards if you don't. Now then, when it's full enough," which it was, "You turn the knobs back. And when you're done washing, you pull the plug out of the drain and voila! Bathing made easy."

"It's no wonder the villagers smelled so clean," Arthur said, shaking his head in wonder.

"Speaking of cleanliness, I'd best show you how to work the toilet." Merlin turned to the white stool, lifting up a lid and revealing another basin of water. "This is a toilet. Essentially a chamber pot. You do your business, and when you're finished, pull this chain and the water will flush everything away." Merlin tugged the chain, and the water in the basin spun before emptying out and dribbling back in.

Arthur's brows climbed his forehead. "Yes. It truly is no wonder how good the villagers smell." Merlin smiled genuinely, clearly pleased he had impressed his king. Arthur nodded, eager to learn more about this room, but just as eager to enter the bathwater. He raised his arms so Merlin could remove his armor.

"Arthur?"

"Come on, Merlin. I want to bathe."

Understanding dawned on the warlock. He reached out and clumsily began to unclasp his king's gauntlets. "Let's see if I still remember how to do this…"

Arthur was uncomfortably aware of how much longer it took Merlin to remove his armor than it normally did. He had to remind himself that it had probably been hundreds of years – _hundreds! _– since Merlin had to perform such a task, and he wondered if it were wrong to ask it of him. After all, Merlin had magic, and he had used that magic to wait for Arthur all this time, and here Arthur was still treating him like a mere servant. He shuffled his feet, embarrassed at his mistake.

Merlin piled all of Arthur's gear into his arms. He propped open the door with a foot. "Well, sire, I'll leave you to it. I'll clean your clothes and leave them outside the door. Dinner should be ready by the time you're finished."

"Merlin… thank you."

A small smile. "You're welcome."

* * *

Merlin took Arthur's underclothes, pants, shirt, and jacket outside to his old wash basin. He filled it with a hose, poured in some soap flakes, heated the water with magic, and set the clothes to work scrubbing themselves. While they washed, he went inside to prepare dinner. He placed the teakettle on the stove to heat and put out a tray of biscuits on the table. Then, he began to fry the sausages and eggs.

"I must be in shock."

He had been waiting for this day for nearly two millennia. It was his purpose for living, and yet, he did not feel the least bit happy. He did not know if it was because he had been expecting more, imagination fed by the countless dreams he'd had about this day, or if it was because there was so much sadness in the task he was responsible for now, telling Arthur about the world. It may have been the fact that Arthur was meant to return when Albion needed him most, meaning that this was not the end of his toil but the beginning of greater struggles for both of them.

There were two other possibilities he did not want to flirt with. The first was his fear that the Arthur who just appeared, although clearly the same one as who died that day by the Lake, would not live up to the Arthur of his memories, would not be worth the wait, would not fill this void that had eaten up his heart. The second was the fear that his heart was too far lost to feel any more joy.

He shivered, hoping to shake off the unease. "Shock," he decided.

Merlin eyed the clothes washing in the yard. They had apparently decided they were done washing and began to wring themselves out. Flashing his eyes, Merlin sent a wave of warm air at them, steaming them dry in an instant. They obediently folded and stacked themselves and floated through the open door, down the hallway, to land neatly by the bathroom door. The armor he could deal with later, once he acquired something to polish it with. As an afterthought, he flicked his wrist, and a pair of socks tumbled down the stairs to the top of Arthur's laundry.

The kettle whistled shrilly. He quickly removed it, began brewing the tea, and covered the kettle with a cozy.

The sausages and eggs were nearly done by the time Arthur wandered into the kitchen, looking – and smelling – fresh and clean. The king nodded approvingly, sniffing at the air. "Smells good."

"It will fill your stomach, at least." Merlin forked the sausages and eggs onto two plates, which floated neatly around Arthur and to the table. While Merlin poured tea, milk, and sugar into two mugs, glasses of orange juice and water were filled in mid-air, before also landing on the table. Merlin carried the tea himself, and when the table was set, gestured for Arthur to sit.

"I see you're comfortable with your magic these days," Arthur noted as he sat down.

Merlin shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. Even though he had told Arthur about his magic seventeen-hundred years ago, he had to remember it must have felt like four _days_ ago to him. He had to admit, too, that after centuries of hiding his magic, much of this display was pointedly to relieve his loneliness on that front, damned if it made Arthur uncomfortable or not. Merlin was too old to care about things like being embarrassed. If Arthur had planned on repealing the ban, he had better learn quickly to get used to it.

Then again, since there was not any magic these days, Arthur did not have much to worry about.

The king nodded, obviously unnerved but trying to play it off. Merlin had forgotten how easy he was to read. "So, I see sausages, eggs, and water, but I'm afraid you'll have to explain the rest."

"Are you trying to be modest, sire?"

"Shut up, idiot, and do your job."

"Then, we'll start with the most important part. Tea. Basically leaves stewed in hot water; it came here from China about four hundred years ago. I've added milk and sugar, which you probably haven't heard of either. Sugar is sweet, like honey, only it comes from a plant and not bees. If you don't like tea now, you'd better get used to it, because the English drink it about four times a day. It's a staple of the diet, you see.

"This here is orange juice. I see you know about oranges."

"Of course I know what an orange is!"

"But not when it's in juice form, clearly." Ignoring Arthur's glare, he continued. "Lastly, biscuits. Sweet little crispy pastries. Again, another staple of the English diet. Now then, let's tuck in."

"I suppose you mean we should start eating," Arthur grumbled. He began carving into the sausages, and he said not one more word until his plate was cleared. Then, he gulped down the juice and water. When that was gone, he finally tested the tea, and it must have been passable, for he began to take long swigs of that as well.

"I forgot how much of a pig you were, sire."

Arthur spluttered, spraying tea into the floor. "I haven't eaten in days!"

"Two thousand years, actually."

The fire instantly extinguished in the king. He sighed, placing the tea again on the table. "Why did I come back?"

Merlin averted his eyes, unwilling to see the pain in Arthur's. "All I know is that you were destined to return when Albion most needed you. For whatever reason, that time must be now."

"I don't understand. It seems peaceful. Is Camelot at war?"

"There isn't a Camelot anymore. It fell to the Saxons when your cousin took the throne."

"What?" Arthur paused for only a moment, though, not as devastated as Merlin expected him to be. It was as though this thought had already occurred to him. He must have already recognized the landscape in its unfamiliarity. "Which cousin? Richard? What about Guinevere? I gave her the royal seal."

"No, no, no. Gwen did rule, until the end of her life. Only, she never remarried and never had children, so when she died, your cousin – Richard's son, Alfred – was next in line for the throne."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you stop them, Merlin? I know you have more than enough power. How could you just let Camelot fall?"

Suddenly, Merlin slammed his mug onto the table, glaring into Arthur's eyes. His voice was dark with his next words. "What was I supposed to do, Arthur? Everyone I cared about was already gone; Alfred _banished _me. I don't see why I should have done anything. Besides, it was only a matter of time. The age of knights, kings, castles – it's been over for a long time, Arthur. The people rule now. Power comes to those who labor for it. There's no place for Camelot here. Yes, it would have happened anyway, no matter how many times I might have prevented it."

They were both quiet for a time, gazing into opposite corners of the room. Finally, Arthur asked, "Was Guinevere… happy?"

"She was… strong. She was a good queen, and she brought great happiness to the people while she ruled. She returned magic to the land and even managed to unite the kingdoms. I know she had few regrets."

"Good. I'm… glad." Arthur drained the rest of his tea. Outside, twilight was creeping across the garden, purpling the air.

"I imagine everyone practices magic now," said the king, obviously fishing for information. Merlin decided he might as well give the man what he wanted.

"Quite the opposite, actually," the age-old warlock replied with masking nonchalance. "There is no more magic."

"But, but everything-"

"Science. Technology. No, Arthur, about five hundred years ago the societies of the world set out to murder all sorcerers, believing they were evil. You could say it was like the Purge, only this time, there was nowhere to escape to. In the place of magic, people put their faith in an omnipotent god and the power of science, both of which were strong for them. Even after the witch-burnings, some societies still existed who practiced magic, but they were driven to extinction as those other nations expanded their borders. Now, people don't even believe in magic; it is nothing more than a bedtime story for children. There are still scattered bands of sorcerers around the world… but their numbers are miniscule and their power laughable. Their societies think them crazy."

"And… the creatures? Unicorns? Fairies?"

"I haven't seen a fairy in over a hundred years."

Arthur's fingers gripped the kitchen table with such force that Merlin thought they would shatter the wood. "Merlin, everything that I worked for… Was it all for nothing? _Why did I come back?_"

Merlin could not reply, for he did not know the answer.

Arthur rose to his feet. The atmosphere darkened around him, a storm cloud. "You've changed, Merlin. You're complacent. Just now… how can you deliver such words as though they don't bother you?"

The warlock merely sighed. "There are many things you don't understand, sire. You should get some sleep."

"And what, Merlin? When I wake up all of this will be better? How will anything ever be okay? Tell me that!"

Merlin waved his hand, and the dishes were whisked from the table; they began scrubbing themselves in the sink. "I'm _old_, sire. I'm long past acting like I know all the answers. I'm not going to tell you something just because it will make you feel better." Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur's look of shock, which was quickly morphing into a narrow glare. "And there you go again, _thinking_. Sire, the kingdom once _depended_ on your feelings. I did what had to be done, but it wasn't like I lied to you. I still had the utmost faith in you, you just needed a supportive friend to be standing at your side."

A frown took root in the other man's face. He paced between the kitchen and the hall; Merlin knew it to be one of his methods of channeling excess energy, a way to dispel any hot air that might be clouding his mind.

Arthur stopped. "Why are you still here?"

"Getting tired of me already?"

"I'm serious, Merlin."

The manservant nodded; an Arthur who had stopped raging and throwing insults was indeed a serious one. As he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur interjected, "And you had better not try to sweep this under that rug you call 'Destiny'."

"Then I'm to have a much harder time explaining it, aren't I?"

The blonde crossed his arms. "You can try."

"I suppose you'll not accept 'I don't know' as a viable answer, either?"

"Not after you've had seventeen hundred years to ponder an answer. Even you aren't that incompetent."

Merlin shrugged, turning his attention to what he could see of the garden through the small window on the door. The moon filtered through the clouds and the branches, speckling the grass with silver swaths of light on a background of black. His sharp eyes spotted gnats and summer's first fireflies rising from the earth. "I'm immortal."

"Immortal." Arthur's tone was strewn with disbelief, overlying a foundation of horrified acceptance. "_You_ are."

"The druids once called me 'Emrys'. It wasn't until the Battle of Camlann that I learned the true meaning of that name."

"Then, this isn't a spell?"

"No one's that powerful, Arthur. If you spelled someone to live forever, it would throw off the balance of Life itself, stealing energy from other sources to fuel this thing that shouldn't exist."

"So how is this possible?"

"Why don't I also throw off the Balance? Because I'm intrinsically linked to it. I'm not just a sorcerer, sire. I'm what's called a 'warlock', a rare person who is born with magic and does not need to learn it. But that's still not the root, merely a result of it. Arthur – I was not just born with magic; I _am_ magic. I am her life force incarnate. If that still doesn't make sense, just think of me like you would a unicorn or dragon, a creature of magic. A creature whose death would dramatically alter the world it has just left."

Arthur was quiet for a long time, for so long that Merlin thought he had left the room, and he turned over his shoulder to check. The blonde king of Camelot was leaning against the doorframe, face hanging toward the floor and expression hidden. Merlin sighed and looked again into the garden.

He did not know what he should have felt. In the time of Camelot, this reaction from Arthur would have destroyed him; now, he could only think of how strange it was to give his never-spoken thoughts form.

"Then you _can_ die?" Arthur murmured. "In that case, you still have not answered my question: _why are you still here_?"

Merlin blinked. He had assumed his king wanted to know the mechanics of the forces that had so unnaturally extended his life. Was Arthur asking him why he had not yet committed suicide? Merlin turned his whole body to face his friend, his bones vibrating with shock. He had assumed rejection and incomprehension. But Arthur met his eyes bravely, understanding glimmering in his bright orbs – he knew that Merlin still had a choice, regardless of what Destiny intended. He did not care about what happened to cause Merlin to be here, but instead he wanted to know why Merlin _chose_ to stay.

Merlin knew the answer, too, but as it rose in his mind – so simple – he realized he had long since forgotten it. He had not remained here because he was _supposed _to wait for Arthur. When had he ever acquiesced to something required of him? Never!

"I stayed here because you're my best friend, and I didn't want you to wake up alone." He spoke the words as though he had never known them before. His skin shivered. His heart felt like some force had pierced it through – it pounded in his chest.

Arthur's expression lost its edge; if anything, it looked worried. He loosed his breath through his nostrils and nodded. Wordlessly, he stepped forward, and without looking into Merlin's eyes, squeezed the man's skinny shoulder, before turning and walking out of the room.

Merlin was not given even a second to process the incoherent thoughts raging in his mind before he heard Arthur's voice – "Are you going to show me where I sleep or not?"

Blinking, Merlin scrambled to his feet. He grinned, relishing the feeling of those muscles stretching his face, and hurried after his king.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! This story technically was not due for an update (according to the update schedule that I never follow). I just really felt like posting something, and this was the only chapter ready to go up. No harm done, ne? I really like this chapter, so I hope you do, too. And of course, constructive criticism is always welcome, especially if I made a mistake with my history!**

**Thanks so much to Sire-wehn, eilonwy77, and lilyflower1345 for their reviews! **


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